There You Are Silver Star In My Dream
by cethRAWR
Summary: LOTR/SPN crossover. One shot. Tag to 7x15.


**There You Are, Silver Star In My Dream**

**A/N: Tag to**** 7x15. Because this is apparently how I do fix-ups.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Any of them ;; Title is lyrics from 'Silver Star' by The Four Seasons  
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Dean rolled over with a groan, and despite his exhaustion, he still only managed the usual short sleep – Though thankfully dreamless for a change. He'd yet to open his eyes, but not hearing any noise of Sam moving around the room worried him a little. Mind you, he always worried about Sam now.

_He's probably just asleep._

He listened for a minute longer. He couldn't hear any of Sam's tell-tale soft snores. In fact, his breathing was completely off. Not the even deep breathing of sleep, but shorter and sharper – almost as if in pain and fear. He was off the bad and in front of Sam in an instant.

"Sammy?" He looked into his eyes, and saw nothing to indicate Sam was seeing him, even if Dean was in his line of sight. _No, no, no. _The chorus of it started in his mind. "C'mon Sam, snap out of it." Desperation bubbled, and he knew there would be no talking Sam down. He was going to have to go the pain route again if he had any hope, but there are no stitches now, but a scar, and he didn't want to make any fresh open wounds if he didn't have to. He delivered a quick, sharp slap across Sam's face, hard enough to turn Sam's head to the side.

No response.

Fear settled in Dean's stomach, twisting it. "C'mon, Sammy, get up." Desperation called for a second attempt at a wake-up slap, but again there was nothing. With a small hitch in his breath, he fell to his knees in front of Sam. "Don't leave me here, Sam. Oh God, don't leave me. I don't… I can't…" Words he was failing to coherently put into a straight thought and sentence trailed away from him as he suddenly felt warmth in his pocket. His fingers strayed for his pocket on autopilot, and he grasped the thin neck of a phial.

Oh. _Oh._ His mind strayed to when he'd met the greying wizard. How he and Gandalf talked – once Dean had got over his initial fanboy moment that embarrassed the hell out of him to remember – and ultimately he'd been handed _this._

_"You know what this is, don't you?" The wizard held out a beautifully carved glass phial, filled with clear water that shone with a brilliant inner light._  
><em>"…The light of Eärendil…" Dean spoke in quietly hushed tones, two parts awe and one part 'I'm not touching that' for fear of a less-than-positive reaction. The old wizard was someone he'd like to keep off the already fairly long list of people disappointed in and with him.<em>  
><em>"The light of the Elves most sacred star, captured in the silver basin of the Lady Galadriel herself. It will drive back the darkness when you are in most need of it, Dean." and then Gandalf fumbled seemed to fumble with the delicate-looking glass. And despite the fact he could see it was deliberate, despite he knew Gandalf wouldn't have fumbled it accidentally, his hand shot out and caught the glass. The light didn't grow dim or dull, which was definitely an encouraging sign.<em>  
><em>"...You're sure?"<em>  
><em>"Do not question a wizard or his intentions. The light has come to you with good reason, Dean. The light will not fail when you have need of it." At the tone, Dean had worried he'd insulted Gandalf, but upon him meeting his eyes, apology ready and waiting on his tongue, he saw the good humour dancing in the light of the wizard's eyes.<em>  
><em>"I..." He held the gaze a moment longer, then gave a small smile. "Thanks."<em>  
><em>Gandalf nodded, a smile of his own, and they parted. And the phial had waited, all but forgotten, in his pocket.<em>

He turned the glass phial over in his hands. "...Well... if ever it was dark..." And it was dark. Not in the physical, 'I can't see my hand in front of my face' dark. No, he could have dealt with that. Often had - and did - in his line of work. It was dark in that he felt almost completely hopeless and helpless, the vacuum of his despair not letting any of the light at the end of the tunnel through at all. Almost as if in response, it glowed a little brighter.

He took Sam's hand, and wrapped it around the phial, wrapping his own hands around Sam's. _Please work_was the only thought that came to him. There was nothing immediately, and Dean felt his heart plummet.

"If you don't snap out of this, I'm taking the damned top off and pouring this shit down your throat." He ground out, clawing desperately to his last, now seemingly feeble hope. And then the bottled flared brilliantly, so bright he had to turn his face slightly. But he didn't dare let go. Under his hands he felt Sam's fingers twitch, And hope cut through his despair.

"C'mon Sam, that's it. Come back."

Suddenly the light receded to its original level of brightness, and Sam slumped forwards into Dean, neither letting go of the phial. Holding as tightly to it as they might hold a live star between them, neither letting go in case it should disappear or fade away.

Dean felt Sam shudder through his body in his arms, before lifting his head, blinking at Dean confusedly.

"...Dean...?" Sam's voice dragged ragged and raw across his throat, And Dean beamed in relief, pulling Sam down to him tucking Sam's head against him, stroking fingers through Sam's hair. His eyes fixed on the ceiling, ignoring the burn in his eyes.

" 'M here, Sammy. 'M here." He almost whispered the words, rocking them gently. It's what he used to do when Sam was little when nightmares struck. Back when things were simple, before everything felt lost. Before everything but them _was_lost.

Something broke in Sam, and Dean felt it. He felt it by the way Sam's arms tightened around him, how Sam's breath hitched and heaved as he sobbed into Dean, and Dean just sat hushing him, rocking him slightly and soothing him, like when they were young.

And under the light of an elven star, a spark of hope was reborn.

**Thanks for stopping by! :)**


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